


forest veil

by sarisa



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-09
Updated: 2012-10-10
Packaged: 2017-11-15 23:56:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/533195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarisa/pseuds/sarisa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles wakes up naked in the woods. This is not the weirdest thing that's happened to him, lately.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am clearly on a roll. Title borrowed from the wonderful Lisa Gerrard. Unbeta'd, any mistakes are my own.

Stiles wakes up in the woods in the middle of the night.

A year ago, this might have been more alarming than it is now, but at this point he’s getting sort of used to weird stuff happening to him. And by weird, he means violent, gory, and generally disturbing, but it’s amazing the sorts of things you can grow accustomed to with enough exposure.

So, okay, woods at night. He’s cool. He might be about to die, but that’s also a common enough occurrence that panicking is not actually his first reaction- survival skill, that. 

Also he’s naked, which he realizes as he pulls himself to his feet, pieces of dead leaves sticking to his skin. The naked is less normal.

It’s weird, he thinks, looking around. Weird that he’s not bothered by being naked. His sometimes-furry friends are exceptionally comfortable showing off their collective assets, all things considered- lycanthropy seems to go hand in hand with awesome body image and lack of modesty- but Stiles has never been quite so confident in his own skin, all elbows and knees and coltish clumsiness. He’s not unduly bothered by it, but he’s aware of his lack of comparable grace and coordination, not to mention the muscles the dude werewolves all acquired overnight. Some things are just unfair.

But he’s not freaking out now, which is weird in itself. In fact, things all seem kind of off. He’s super-aware of the woods around him, of how cool the earth is under his feet, of the air moving around his body, of the stream he can hear nearby. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears, in that way you only ever do when you put a pillow over your head and muffle all the other sounds, or when you run a couple of miles and push yourself as hard as you can.

Or after a really good orgasm. You know. It’s sort of like that.

It feels like every hair on his body is standing on end, and he closes his eyes, listening to the wind moving between the trees, around them, making the leaves move along with his breath; to the earth pulsing beneath his feet along with his own heartbeat; to the water rushing over the stones in the creek like the blood moving through his veins. 

He’s not a wolf, but he belongs here. He’s part of this. They move through it, through their territory, make it their home. But it’s part of him, a part of his body he’s never felt before. 

He can hear it moving up over the hill behind him, knows exactly where it is without even opening his eyes, feels the air shifting to accommodate another breathing body, this one distinctly lupine. The wolf growls low and pounces, knocking him back to the ground, and Stiles turns beneath it, smothered by dark fur that smells like pine needles and autumn. It pins him down, snuffling against his neck, and he isn’t afraid, hasn’t been at all, just lies there and reaches a hand up to touch fur that’s coarse at the surface, but softer deeper in the pelt.

Stiles doesn’t open his eyes. Under his hand, fur slides away, replaced by warm skin, the fangs and the cold nose against his neck become soft lips and harsh stubble. His hand ghosts over hard muscle, and the rumbling growl that produces vibrates through him.

He’s hard, he’s so hard but he doesn’t want to look, that will make this go away and he _really_ doesn’t want it to stop. But then the wolf shifts his hips, now blatantly just as hard as Stiles is, his cock sliding against Stiles’, and Stiles groans, hips stuttering and nails clenching into smooth skin. His eyes pop open, and all he can see is red. Ruby red irises staring down at him, so much red… red sliding into green, and Stiles leans up, his eyes closing again-

**BANG.**

His eyes shoot open, and he sits up in bed with a hoarse yelp, kicking frantically at his sheets. Outside his door, his dad bellows, “STILES! YOU’RE LATE!”

“Yeah,” he croaks, falling back down onto his pillow and staring up at the ceiling, so hard it feels like his balls are throbbing. “Yeah, okay, I’m up.” In more than one sense.

So about how he just had a sexytimes dream about Derek Hale. About that. 

Oh, God. He's doomed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Self-realizations are difficult, complicated things. They're made more complicated when werewolf noses are involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitely on a roll. More than one chapter in 24 hours, go me! Still unbeta'd (hehe), all mistakes still my own. Strikethrough issues now fixed... I think.

Doomed is right, Stiles thinks, after downing about three cups of coffee. Okay, so three and a half. He's under stress. It's allowed, right?

Luckily, no one at school seems to notice the fact that he’s currently wondering if he’s bisexual. A lot of guys experiment, right? It’s not like there’s anything wrong with it, although apparently he’ll have to dress better to get his dad to believe it. 

It’s less the possibility of being maybe-bi that terrifies him, and more that he’s maybe-bi over Derek Hale. He who enjoys slamming Stiles into things, shoving his face into Stiles’, and snarling out bloody death threats. 

Yep. Because this is Stiles’ life.

He makes it through the day without landing himself in detention (thanks, Harris) or having any major freak-outs, which he thinks is progress, even if Boyd gives his shaking leg an odd look at lunch and Erica smirks at him. She smirks at him a lot, usually in a mocking fashion, but he thinks that maybe apologizing for not noticing that she liked him would be taken rather poorly, and he’s not sure if that’s what she’s still annoyed about, if she is annoyed with him, but he’s not going to ask. In his experience, both personal and with Allison vicariously through Scott, is that if you don’t know what the problem is but they expect you to know, you get into even more trouble. Thus, this is him, not asking.

Anyway, he’d be more concerned about Erica’s knowing sort of smirk if he wasn’t so busy with trying to keep his internal problems internal.

Is it weird that he’s not freaked out about the bi thing? He’s more weirded out that he’s _not_ freaked out by it. He should be more freaked out about enormous self-realizations. Maybe he’s always sort of suspected, deep down? He can appreciate nice muscles along with everyone else, although up to this point it’s always been in the ‘damn, I wonder how he got those, I could never manage that’ kinda way. 

Anyone would have a sex dream about Derek Hale, right? The guy… okay, well, Stiles has seen the guy mostly naked. He’s pretty damned cut. You can be straight and want to climb Derek Hale like a tree, not that Stiles does. Consciously, anyway. 

Well, whatever. Being bi has no effect whatsoever on his fifteen-year plan to gain Lydia’s everlasting love. 

He’s determined. Well, he’s determined right up to the point where he walks out of school after last period and heads for his Jeep, since it’s not lacrosse season yet and he can go home and chill online until Scott’s done with work for the afternoon. 

Yep, he walks out of school and out into the parking lot, only to see the Camaro purring to a stop right at the bottom of the steps, Derek behind the wheel in his stupid aviators. He looks cheesy and dumb in his leather jacket and his stupid car, too, and Stiles does not stare at all as he walks over to his Jeep… and walks into it.

“I’m fine, everybody!” he reassures…. absolutely no one, since no one was paying attention to him, anyway (the benefits of being virtually invisible when not on first line). Well, no one but Derek, who’s watching him from the Camaro, and his pack, all of whom look amused as they pile inside, Isaac and Erica stuck in the backseat. Stiles grimaces back and lifts a hand, turning back to his Jeep. He is definitely not thinking about Derek naked. Or Derek on top of him. Especially not Derek naked and on top of him. Nope. Not at all.

Dude, he’s definitely thinking about it, and he has to stop or their stupid werewolf noses are going to be able to smell it (that’s a thing, Scott told him it’s a thing and why the hell did he have to have sexuality confusion over a werewolf?!). 

“Stiles.” The Camaro had turned around while he’d been busy scrambling into his driver’s seat and trying to control his _bad bad bad_ thoughts, and is now idling behind his Jeep, blocking it in. He twists around and pokes his head out the window to stare back at the Alpha.

“Derek,” he says, arching a brow.

Derek’s eyes are invisible behind the mirrored shades. His smirk, however, is not. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Extreme klutziness is a well-known characteristic of a Stiles in his natural habitat.”

“Right.” Derek leans back in his seat, and Erica nearly crawls over him so she can grin out at Stiles. 

“See you later.” She does everything but wiggle her brows at him, and Stiles starts to retort something about harassment and a restraining order, but Derek guns the engine and shoots out of the parking lot before he gets out more than the first word.

Well, that went well.

“Dude, it’s not a big deal if you’re gay,” Scott says for the tenth time as he unloads the clean towels out of the dryer at Deaton’s clinic. Stiles groans, face planted on the top of the dryer and arms sprawled in front of him on the overly warm metal, and bangs his fists against it, like it’s a drum and he can drum all of these stupid feelings out of him. Feelings not of the emotional kind. Feelings very much of the physical kind.

“I’m not gay. Not gay. If I were gay, I wouldn’t have all the fantasies I do about Lydia in black leather.”

“Okay, so you’re bi. It’s still _not a big deal_.”

Stiles groans again. He tries to put all of his mental anguish into it, but it still comes out more like a whine. “But does one dream make me bi? That’s what I’m asking, here. One weird, freaky dream about being naked out in the woods and possibly getting tackled and glomped by a werewolf. Who might not even have been Derek.”

“Dude.” Scott stuffs the last of the towels into the basket and slams the door. “Were you, like, doing stuff? Was your dick involved?”

Stiles turns his head to peek at Scott, whines, and hides his face again. Scott rolls his eyes and walks into the other room. He calls back, “You’re making way too big a deal of this. Okay, maybe it is a big deal, but it’s not like it’s a bad thing. And I see why you’re freaked out, but- “

“No, no you do not.” Stiles straightens and trails after him. “I’m surprisingly, or maybe not surprisingly, not freaking out over the bi thing. I’m freaking out because my subconscious- note the emphasis there, Scott, this was not a conscious decision- my subconscious went bi for _Derek Hale._ He of the shoving me against things, and threatening to murder me with his teeth, and getting in my face and making his extreme dislike of my person _very clear_.”

Scott is fighting a smile. Stiles fights the urge to punch him. It would not end well. For Stiles. “You know, that all sounds kind of homoerotic. I’m just saying. Maybe you’re not the only one.” His grin is very visible now. “I could, like, sniff it out for you, the next time we all meet up. See if it’s one-sided.”

Stiles’ eyes widen. “No. Definitely no. That’s a negative.” Scott just snickers at him, heading back out to the main desk, and Stiles waves his arms in spastic frustration. “No. _No_. Scott McCall, I know all your dirty little secrets- you keep your super-sniffer to yourself, do you hear me? Scott!”


End file.
